Two of you put fingers to keyboard after the last post to ask me how I felt about two of Sesame Street's bit players: Guy Smiley and Prairie Dawn.

I limited my analysis to the major Sesame Street characters for a reason, but hey, anything for you people. Guy Smiley I don't really have an opinion about---he is a relatively bland game show host, after all---but I do appreciate the way he does not move his jaw to speak, but rather throws back the entire top half of his flip-top head. So yeah, I would have a few beers with the guy, just for the freak factor.

As for Prairie Dawn:

Don't get me started. There is something about that farm-fresh face and her porn-ready name that just makes me want to do unspeakable, degrading things to this little noseless whore. I can't even look at her picture without picturing her squirming and whimpering on some wet-and-messy plastic sheeting, while oiled studs and dominating bisexual brunettes with cruel smiles yank on her Heidi braids and---stopping this now before Jim Henson's ghost comes knocking on my virtual door. The end.

PREPARE THINE BLOATED ASSES FOR ROCKING

Well, we tried to. Saturday night LT and I were all excited about going to see the Watchers at Empty Bottle. But we were hungry first: LT had gone to the gym and thus was ready to eat just about anything, up to and including a water buffalo or a handful of styrofoam peanuts. While I had performed no such heroic physical acts, I had spent much of the day napping or totally absorbed in my book and forgetting to eat, so I was ready for food as well. We went to our favorite Ethiopian place on Broadway and had a vegetarian combo and several Namibian beers that, frankly, tasted like Budweiser, but since they are a relatively new country they are probably just now getting around to brewing anything at all. So we will cut them some beer slack. Then it was down to Empty Bottle, and a primo parking space, only to find that the show was sold out. I was quite surprised, because it just didn't seem like that sort of show. Strangely, I had briefly considered buying tickets in advance, but decided against it because then I would be all locked in to going, and MIMI IS A ROLLING STONE, AIN'T NOTHING GOING TO BREAK-A HER STRIDE, OH NO, SHE'S GOT TO KEEP ON MOO-VING, etc. I like to be able to say "fuck it" to all the evening's plans and stay home with my beer if necessary, and you can't do that with advance tickets, at least not without a sense of guilt. Anyway, we were briefly bummed, but grateful for two things: (1) that we had driven the car and not taken the slow-as-Corky Western Avenue bus, and thus we could just turn around and head back north with minimal fuss and bother,* and (2) that we had eaten really good food before heading out, instead of just munching some sad crackers at home and making the show the entire focal point of our evening. Back home for: beer, television, digestion.

*Bus. Thus. Fuss.

The rest of my weekend was also all about good food and wine---we entertained both Friday and Sunday. The routine is pretty polished by now: LT cooks, I sit around with my wineglass and make semi-witty remarks. Sometimes I feel like I am in training to be someone's drunk and eccentric great-aunt.

TRAUMATIZED BY THE TUBE (TELEVISUAL EVENTS THAT SCARRED MY CHILDHOOD)

1. There was this one Little House on the Prairie episode where Laura's dog died, and somehow it was her fault or it happened through her negligence, I have forgotten the exact details. It sent me into a deep depression for days at six years old, because I think it was my first experience with the depiction of grief mixed with regret, and that is one bad-ass emotion.

2. I was very, very upset by the fact that the rabbit couldn't have any Trix. We are talking tears and unable-to-sleep upset. My mother told me that "after the commercial ended" the kids let the rabbit have Trix, which made me feel slightly (very slightly) better but was a very weird thing to say to a child, and may have been a factor in my fucked-up notions of space-time and continuous narration.

3. A certain segment on the constantly-mentioned-these-last-few-entries Sesame Street used to give me the screaming horrors: a slow-motion short film of a guy tossing pizza dough in the air, accompanied by Italian-type carnival music. Don't ask me to explain this one. I still dream about it sometimes.

That Ross Chambers guy wrote that book about how all narration is an act of seduction; do you feel seduced yet? Mmmm, you smell good, come sit over here. Anyway, in the Monday vein, and because I started off today a little bit hungover and spastic, here is a list of things I noticed and things I thought with my little, dried-out brain. The list format is our friend! Donít drink list format! Dilute! Dilute! List! OK! We work-sing-dance-love, making lists! All lists! OK!

1. I still want to go see vegan straightedge hardcore bands and heckle them by tossing unlit cigarettes and handfuls of shredded cheddar cheese at them. "Bummer, you broke edge, you're all covered with CHEESE." Who's coming with me?

2. Not making this up: on the floor of the bus today there was an Osco flyer that had a coupon for $4 off if you bought a certain large frozen pizza and a fifth of Beefeater gin together. The flyer was too dirty and slushy to take, but I really want to find a clean copy for my scrapbook, because that is just too beautiful. Pizza and gin.

3. Also not making this up: it snowed over the weekend here and I am walking to the bus stop this morning and saw a slice of salami, just lying there all pinky-brown and meaty on top of the snow, and it looked so weird it made me laugh out loud.

6. On Sunday afternoon I watched the movie Scratch (TiVo knows that I like the documentaries), and it was okay, if a touch overlong and repetitive. It is worth seeing if only for one awe-inspiring scene: Mixmaster Mike takes a Robert Johnson song, lets it play for a while, and then somehow scratches it and mixes it so it is an entirely new song and yet the same song, it is an indescribable moment and it literally gave me chills.

7. I decided I don't like constellations. It is cheating. It is not letting the stars have their individuality. You think a star wants to be part of Orion's belt? Get out of here with your Big Dipper bullshit. A star is a star, not some household object.

8. I also don't like things that seem systematic and turn out not to be. I remember spending a long tine as a kid with a map of the United States, wondering and imagining what all the pink states had in common, or all the yellow states, and feeling bitter and disillusioned when we finally learned about political maps in school.